‘What about the car, or the other people who were with you?’
‘No, sorry. Can’t help you. I’d had a few, like. But there’s no law against it, is there?’
‘I thought you played the game for the whole evening?’
‘I did, but we all have the odd refreshment break, like. It’s all part of the craic. By the end of the night I was pretty far gone.’
Hall opened his folder and pulled out a see-through, tagged evidence bag containing the mobile phone that Iredale had found.
‘Do you recognise this?’
‘Aye. It’s a mobile phone. Next. I knew it straight away, like.’ Hayton looked round to his lawyer, grinning, but the man sat stony-faced. Hall had a feeling that he’d heard that one before.
‘Have you seen it before?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. They all look the same really, don’t they?’
‘Have you got your own phone with you now?’
‘Aye. Here it is.’ Hayton put it on the table.
‘Did you have it with you on Tuesday evening?’
‘No, I didn’t. Left it at home, like. You know what the Great Game is like. It could have got damaged, like. You can check my phone records, if you like.’
‘We have’ said Hall. ‘Tell me, do you ever carry another phone?’
Hayton smiled. ‘No. I might play a game on a mate’s phone, or answer for him while we’re driving. But that’s it. Why would I need another phone? I’ve only got one mouth, like.’
Hayton looked at his lawyer again, who smiled thinly. It seemed like enough for Hayton, who laughed loudly. Hall didn’t smile.
‘This phone has your prints on it, Mr. Hayton. Can you explain that?’
‘Like I said, I might have touched it. That’s not a crime, is it? Touching a phone, like.’
‘Last Tuesday night and into Wednesday morning this phone was used to call another pay-as-you-go number, and it received calls from the same number. At the time both phones were in the central Workington area. Were you using this phone at the time?’
‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘I thought you said you’d had a few drinks?’
‘Not that many, like. I can hold my drink. Women always like to see that in a bloke, don’t they, love?’
Jane Francis didn’t reply, and Hall didn’t even seem to have noticed Hayton’s comment. He just asked his next question.
‘This phone was found in a pile of material that was fly-tipped in Maryport. Do you know how it got there?’
‘No, no idea.’
Hall sat back and looked straight at Hayton. ‘So what you’re saying is that you might have handled this phone, but that you didn’t use it on Tuesday evening of last week, and that you didn’t dispose of it either?’
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘So how do you explain the fact that the only identifiable finger prints on this particular phone are yours?’
‘Sorry, marrer. Can’t help you there. It’s a mystery, like, is that.’
‘No, it’s not. Not if you were the last person to use the phone, and we know that it hasn’t been on the network again after Tuesday, until it came into our possession, that is.’
‘Aye, well. Like I say, I can’t help you.’
‘You haven’t asked why we’re interested in Tuesday night.’
‘I’m not bothered, to tell you the truth. I know what you lot are like, always trying to fit people up for something or other. But I didn’t do anything on Tuesday night, and you can’t prove that I did. So what if you’ve got some phone that I’ve handled? It means nowt, and we all bloody know it. You must be desperate, though, I will say that.’
‘Desperate? Not at all. This phone helps tie you more closely to the theft of materials relating to the Good Friday game, which in turn connects you to the death of Chris Brown. But it does more than that, Mr. Hayton. Because it helps us to link the death of that young man to your boss, George Hayton. And so you might want to mention that to him, when you next see him. Or perhaps your lawyer will do it for you? Maybe he’ll mention that we’re now taking just as great an interest in him as we are in you, Mr. Hayton.’
Ian Mann drove to Cockermouth, and as expected Keith Iredale took the piss most of the way. But Mann didn’t mind. If you dish it out, you have to be willing to take it. And he’d already had plenty of fun at Keith’s expense. So he smiled good-naturedly, and let Keith have his bit of payback. There were plenty of old-sweat DS’s like Mann who expected respect from any young DC, but as far as he was concerned respect was something that was hard-earned, and easily lost. And it certainly didn’t come with rank.
Debbie Hayton walked with the two detectives to the large storage unit where the historic vehicles were kept.
‘My granddad was a lorry driver, back before the motorway came along, and he used to tell my dad stories about his adventures when dad was a kid. When he saw him, that is. Grandad was only home one night a week, at best. So no wonder my dad went off the rails a bit. When he was younger, I mean.’
She unlocked the shed and slid the door open. Inside there were trucks of various ages and types, a bus, and a couple of tractors. ‘That’s the tipper truck, over there.’
They all walked over to the truck and Iredale walked round it. Like every other vehicle in the shed it was spotless, and painted in the colours of Hayton’s business, but with hand-painted sign writing and big drop shadows below each letter.
‘Is the log in the cab?’ asked Iredale.
‘Should be. Help yourself.’
Iredale climbed nimbly into the cab.
‘Let me show you round, Ian’ said Debbie, smiling at Mann. ‘Are you interested in old vehicles like these?’
‘Aye, I can see the attraction’ said Mann. ‘It’s nostalgia, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly is. They had it tough though, that generation of drivers. Digging themselves out of snowdrifts, kipping in the cab with no heater, all that. People seem to think my dad’s a hard case, but he’s got his sentimental side.’
‘If you say so.’
Debbie looked at him sharply, and Mann held up a hand in apology.
‘So does your old man drive them? Is that why he’s got so many?’
She laughed. ‘No, never. Not even round the yard. But he does come here and just sit in them, sometimes. He says the smell takes him right back, like.’
‘How about your cousin, Matt? Does he ever drive any of them?’
‘No. I don’t think he’s got any interest in old lorries.’
‘What is he interested in?’
‘You’d have to ask him that. I just run this business, Ian. What the rest of my family gets up to is their business.’
Mann had heard that before, many times, and he usually challenged the person who said it. They were always fooling themselves. And Debbie Hayton was anything but stupid, so she must have a very good idea about where the capital to establish this business had come from. But this time he let it go, and he told himself it was because he wanted to keep the tone of their conversation friendly. For strictly professional reasons, of course.
‘Does your cousin Matt ever come down here?’
‘No. Why should he? He’s nothing to do with this business. Absolutely nothing at all.’
Mann changed the subject.
‘You’ve got CCTV outside I see.’
‘That’s right. It covers the yard and the office.’
‘But not this building?’
‘No. It didn’t seem worth it. My dad’s spent a fortune restoring some of these, that’s true, but they’re not worth much really.’
‘And is there another way out of the yard, other than the way we came in?’
‘This shed has another door at the back actually. It opens on to an old service road. I’ll show you.’
Mann set off and Debbie followed. She unlocked the big sliding doors, and Mann pushed one back. It ran smoothly enough. He glanced out into the lane.
‘So it would be possibl
e to get a lorry out of here without it being shown on CCTV?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And these lorries don’t have trackers?’
‘No. They only got out on a few runs each year, usually to steam fairs and the like. Volunteers drive them for us, mostly.’
Mann slid the door closed again.
‘Thanks’ he said.
‘Look, I do understand why you’re here. I do know about my dad. What he’s done, and how he made his money. But he’s completely straight now, and the stories about him are all exaggerated anyway. He’s not a violent man, I promise you.’
Mann nodded, and hoped that Iredale had finished. But he was still up in the tipper’s cab when they got back to it. Mann thought about calling him back down, but he didn’t.
‘There’s one thing I can tell you for a certain fact,’ Debbie went on, ‘and it has nothing to do with my dad. I’m an honest, law-abiding person and I run this business properly. And as to fly-tipping, I’d never let us get involved in that, especially if it meant shitting on our own doorstep. You’re not much of a judge of character if you think I could do that, anyway.’
Mann wanted to believe her, and he did. But that didn’t change anything.
‘It’s not just about fly-tipping, Debbie. In the load that was dumped at Maryport we found a mobile phone that we think was used in the run-up to a burglary that we are connecting to the death of Chris Brown.’
‘The young lad who died at Uppies and Downies on Good Friday? But that was an accident, surely?’
‘We have reason to believe that the death might be suspicious.’
‘What, and my dad is mixed up in it? Talk about giving a dog a bad name. Why would my dad want to kill anyone, least of all a young lad?’
She climbed up on the wheel of the tipper truck and opened the door.
‘Seen enough? It’s time for you both to go, anyway.’
Iredale nodded and closed the log. He’d already photographed it with his phone and noted the mileage on the odometer.
The journey back to the station was a lot quieter than the one out had been.
‘So was that the truck, do you reckon?’ Mann asked eventually.
‘Could have been, certainly. I had a look at the back of the speedo and it would only take about ten seconds to disconnect it. So the log wouldn’t mean a thing, if it was used on the fly-tipping job, like.’
Mann nodded. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Keith. I’d lay a pound to a pinch of snuff that Debbie didn’t know a thing about it, if it was.’
Iredale was tempted to say something, but he didn’t.
‘What?’ said Mann eventually. ‘You think she’s involved?’
‘No, not really. And we don’t even know it was that tipper that was used, do we?’
‘It’d be a bit of a co-incidence if not though, wouldn’t it?’
‘They do happen.’
‘Aye, they do. But you just think about it, Keith. What would be better for doing the odd dodgy job than those old trucks? You could bring the stuff in legitimately, and sort it out in that shed. Then you’d just drive the unidentifiable waste away in one of the old vehicles and tip it, with no tachographs or anything like that to worry about.’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘Tell the boss what you’ve found out. Let him decide how to play it. But you’re right: I can’t see any way that we can tie that load, and the phone, to Hayton’s haulage firm, let alone that yard or their old tipper truck.’
‘Another dead end then?’
‘It looks like it. But that’s just how it goes sometimes. And, let me tell you, I’ve been here before with Andy Hall. More than once, in fact. And the more frustrating it gets, the more tempted you are to rush at loads of leads at once, the more he calms things right down. You wait and see. He’ll give a little pep talk at the next team meeting, and he’ll say that the only thing we can control completely is our working method, and our own standards. So don’t worry, Keith. We’re not dead yet. Not by a long way. And, just for the record, I don’t think Debbie Hayton is absolutely perfect. Not any more, like,’
‘Really?’
‘Aye. She got a little bit of oil on her hand, when she opened those doors.’
‘Ruined her for you, did it?’
‘No, lad, I didn’t say that.’
Andy Hall and Jane arrived at the cafe in Allonby fifteen minutes before they were due to meet Bill Iredale. It gave them time to order and eat a baked potato each. Hall had his leg up on a spare seat, and they looked out at the grey-blue sea and the blue-grey sky as they ate.
‘How’s your knee?’ asked Jane, taking Hall’s hand. She made a point of asking at least four times a day.
‘Not too bad. Less painful anyway. And I tell you one thing I’ve learned, Jane. Anyone who parks their car in a disabled person’s space should be bloody shot.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’
‘All right then. Life in prison then, but that’s my final offer.’
Jane laughed.
‘Well, go easy on Bill Iredale, won’t you, Mr. Grumpy?’
‘I will. I left the thumb-screws in the office.’
Iredale arrived bang on time, and Jane noticed how like him his son looked. She asked what he fancied and she went to get coffees for all of them. She knew that Hall would just chat about anything but the investigation until she got back, so she didn’t rush. Sure enough when she got back Iredale was telling Hall about sea fishing, and Hall was looking very interested. But to the best of her knowledge he had never cast a line in his life. And when she looked at Iredale, as she sat down, she could see that he wasn’t convinced either.
‘So what can I do for you both?’
‘You understand that this is an informal, off-the-record conversation?’ said Hall.
‘How informal? Does my lad know we’re talking?’
‘He doesn’t, but the bosses do, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
‘No, lad. I haven’t thought about the bloody bosses in years.’
‘Look, I can go round the houses for a while, or get straight to it. Since you were in the job for so long I thought you might prefer the latter option.’
‘Aye, I would.’
‘All right, then. What would you say if I told you that a well-placed confidential informant has suggested that you used to be close to George Hayton?’
‘They mean I was a mole for him, like?’
‘More or less, yes.’
‘And this is relevant to your current investigation how, exactly?’
‘We have reason to believe that the death of Chris Jones may have a gang association, and also that serving officers, and possibly others, have been and possibly still are providing gang leaders with privileged information connected to our current investigation.’
‘I see.’ Iredale took a sip of his coffee and called out to the girl who’d made it. ‘Lovely as always, Ruth.’
‘Me or the coffee?’
‘Both. But you’re lovelier, like.’
Hall smiled politely. ‘So, Bill. Back to my question.’
‘Aye, I know. It’s a tricky one, is that.’ Hall and Jane sat and waited. ‘I suppose it depends what you mean, like. Sometimes he was my informant, sometimes I was his.’
‘How do you mean? Did money ever change hands, in either direction?’
‘No, nowt like that, lad.’
‘But you did reveal privileged information?’
‘Aye, I did’ said Iredale. ‘I’ve always known this would happen, like, and it’s a relief in a way. You charge me, and you can charge him as well. Conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, and that’d just be for starters.’
If Andy Hall was surprised he didn’t look it.
‘Let’s just ease up here, Bill. I’m not arresting you, I’m not even cautioning you. We’re just having a chat at the moment, that’s all.’
‘But I’m giving you George Hayton here. On a bloody plate. Isn’t t
hat what you want?’
‘I understand what you’re saying, Bill, but we both know the implications of taking that line. So why don’t we start by you just telling us what happened, OK? How did it start?’
‘It must have been ’84 or ’85. A young lass who lived near me was glassed in a pub, really vicious it was. We knew who it was, like, right from the off, but we couldn’t find the nasty little bastard. The word was that he was lying low somewhere, abroad maybe, but I never believed it. Anyway, one day I bumped into George, and he asked me how much I wanted to know where the lad was. And I told him that I wanted him really bad. We all did, like, I certainly wasn’t the only one. The lass was scarred for life, and I should know, I still see her in Maryport, every now and again. Anyway, I got on with the job, like, as you do, and thought no more of it. But then, maybe a week later, George was waiting for me when I got home from work. Outside my house, like. He didn’t have any messenger boys see, back in those days. And he offered me a trade. I got the address where our lad was holed up, and all he wanted in return was a vehicle check. Simple as that.’
‘So you did it?’
‘Aye, and we nicked the lad a day or two later. Tell the truth I reckoned I’d got the best of that particular bargain, like. The PNC was for a car from over Carlisle way, and the driver had no record, nothing. But then, about a month or six weeks later, he got pulled out of the Caldew. Dead, obviously.’
‘Shit’ said Hall.
‘Exactly. So that’s a cold case for you to re-open, isn’t it? Anyway, for the rest of my service he had me, didn’t he? I doubt the car was connected to the killing, but he’s a clever bugger, is George Hayton. Because that one PNC check tied me right to it, didn’t it? But he never pushed too hard like, and he only came to me occasionally. Sometimes it’d be months between him asking me for information, even longer maybe.’
‘Can you remember the things he asked you about?’
‘Some of them, aye. And you could link them to his criminal activities, I’m sure of it. Like I said, DCI Hall, nick me and he goes down too. And every bit as hard.’
Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) Page 16